We saw the bad reviews. We laughed in the face of danger. We booked the room anyway. That was our first mistake.
From the moment we stepped inside, disappointment hit us like the smell of stale carpet. The smoke detector dangled from the ceiling like it had given up on life. A chair cushion sported a gaping hole, proudly displaying its stuffing like a bad taxidermy project. The bed linens? A patchwork of holes that could have passed for modern art.
After a long day of traveling, we thought a hot shower might wash away our regrets. Turns out, we only had one towel to share. When I went to the front desk to request another, I was met with a firm no—apparently, towels were a rare and valuable resource.
But nothing—not the broken furniture, not the towel shortage—could have prepared us for what came after the lights went out. That’s when they appeared. The bugs. So many bugs. When I turned the light back on, at least 30 of them sprinted away from the sink like they were late for a meeting. They were on the tables, the floor, and, most disturbingly, in the bed.
We were supposed to stay for three nights. We barely lasted three hours. Do yourself a favor—sleep in your car, pitch a tent, or just embrace insomnia. Anything is better than staying here.